


Hunt of the Disciples

by ChibiKibi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiKibi/pseuds/ChibiKibi
Summary: After the events that made hero renowned, Commander Tabris arrives in Orlais, with her two most faithful companions, to finish the mission that started with an attack on Vigil's Keep.





	Hunt of the Disciples

The sun glittered through the colourful canopies of the Val Royeaux market. The sellers of the lower levels were hawking their wares, encouraging and shepherding people to their little stalls. Music came from a café, as tired shoppers conscientiously showed each other various purchases. Amongst the glittering masks of the pedestrians was a baker. He was not as fabulously bejewelled as some of the patisseries of the Upper Market, but his mask was a dark navy that marked him as a notable member of society. He was well known in this section of town for his rich patrons and his excellent delicacies. He was enjoying the bustling market day, with a steady stream of customers, when he heard a harsher accent than the usual Orlesian lilt.

  
“Oh! Frilly cakes! Please say we’ve got time for frilly cakes?”

  
He looked up to see a small dark-haired woman punch her fist in the air in triumph and walk over. One thing was immediately apparent. She had no mask on. This was scandalous, having one so low trying to apply for custom at his well-to-do stall. He feigned indifference to her.

  
“Aren’t they cute? So many colours of icing.” The waves of rejection coming from him seemed to have no effect on the woman, who tucked her hair behind long tapering ears. An unmasked elf? This was impossible. All of them knew not to be in sight of his beloved produce so brazenly unadorned.

  
“Which one do you fancy?” She seemed to be talking to someone below his eyeline. His curiosity overcame his attempts to not recognize the customer and he peered over his high counter-top. There, just below it, he saw the great face and massive body of a dog, a very distinctive type of dog. Oh Maker, they were Ferelden. This just got worse. The hound barked happily and wagged its tail.

  
“Two?” Was she talking with it? “No! You get one. You’ve been getting fat by sneaking too many scraps from the kitchens at Vigil’s Keep.” The dog seemed to respond with a sad whine, looking up at the elf woman with great sad eyes. “Don’t! I’m wise to your methods now.” She looked up towards him and he quickly snapped his face away from her and the great drooling mouth.

  
“Excuse me, Serah?” she inquired carefully and politely. He tried to force her into indignancy by ignoring her some more, but she just remained at the periphery of his vision, smiling patiently.

  
“Yes?” after the waiting had become to make him look rude and not insulted.

  
She beamed happily at him. “Hi! Yes, could I please get three of your delicious cakes please? A pink, a green and a yellow would be perfect.”

  
He tried to pour all his cold disdain into the look he now gave her. “I’m afraid, we do not serve knife- “. There was a very low, very threatening growl coming from beneath the counter that filled him with a primal fear. In the growing tension, a red-haired chantry sister had appeared to the elf, demonstrating all the appearance of piety, except her eyes which had become steel. “I-I mean,” he reasserted himself, “this establishment does not serve elf- “. The growl increased in volume just the tiniest amount. He looked back to the elf in the centre, now in open panic. She was the very picture of innocence and joyful naivety, and his resolve collapsed. “This establishment does not serve anyone without our highly decorative boxes.”

  
“Well, when in Minrathous! What in Orlais doesn’t have some kind of decoration, ey?” The sheer uncouthness of her accent was grating on him as he shakily packaged the cakes and she happily chatted to the Chantry sister and cooed over the dog.

  
“Thank you!” she chirruped, handing over the money. “I’ll be sure to proudly display the box for my whole stay, and tell all of my friends back home.” The mabari was already ripping through the box to get at his own cake. He managed to remain upright as they happily wandered away with their delectable treats, before collapsing, gripping the counter in fear of the sheer social cliff he was facing.

  
“Fucking Fereldens!”


End file.
